Dealing With It
by Blurby
Summary: What Mac may have done had the problems in her back been more serious. Post - Hail and Farewell I.


A / N – Post "Hail and Fairwell". I altered a bit info, like the doctor's diagnosis, Harriet's departure (which I wasn't too happy about), etc. I decided Mac needs a better way to deal with all her problems.

_

* * *

Bethesda… _

She wrung her cover agitatedly in her hands as she walked out of the hospital lobby. She glanced at a woman in a wheelchair who complained about the itchy feeling under the cast of her right leg as her husband pushed her around obediently.

She frowned and continued on her way, letting the rest of the sights and sounds wash over her harmlessly, trying to sort out everything in her head as she went down the straight, cobbled pathway leading to the road before the car lot.

It felt surreal, she realized, and for some reason, she wouldn't allow herself to be scared. She wouldn't let the possible implications pollute her head when the space it would take up was needed for much more important things. After what seemed like hours of meandering and weaving through the crowded lot, Mac spotted her 'vette. She gently hooked her fingers underneath the door handle, but did not pull it to get in.

She took a deep, shuddering breath, feeling her throat knot up as she tried to compose herself. She ran her fingers through her hair with her free hand, and after a moment's consideration, she brought her cellular phone out. She entered a distantly familiar number with her thumb as she cupped her hand around the small device. Before she pressed 'send' however, the name of the number's owner flashed on the screen, obscured momentarily by the glinting sunlight as it reflected off the glaring silver of the metal.

Harmon Rabb, it read.

With that, she cancelled her call and snapped the corvette's door open. As she bent over, the familiar pain shot up her back, permeating to all her limbs for a moment. She laid her head back against the headrest, but briskly brought the key to the car's ignition and let the engine hum to life.

* * *

JAG Headquarters – Day after Chegwidden's retirement

"Ma'am…I'm sorry, about Mr. Webb," Harriet whispered. Her voice was sincere and gentle, but Mac would have none of it. The Lieutenant hugged at the files in front of her with insecurity as she tried to lend the Colonel some support. "I know that you really cared for him."

"I did," she replied as stoically as possible, looking virtually unperturbed to Harriet, despite the emotion and pain that flashed through her mind as she thought of her visit to Clay's office. "I'll live. I've gone through worse." Mac leaned back, trying to appear nonchalant, and ignored the increasing aching in her back, as it complained about the change in shape.

Every movement ensured that her spine was connected to everything in her body. Although she knew the resulting pain from her movements would be the same every time, she wouldn't stop. She wanted to remind herself that the pain affirmed that she was very much alive and it wasn't over, and everything was still as it was before her doctor's appointment. Only that five-minute diagnosis after her operation had told her differently.

Every bone and every inch of skin ached with the fatigue from the sleepless night before, as she had tried but failed repeatedly in finding a comfortable position on her bed. She dug her fingernails into the plush material of her office chair, and gritted her teeth slightly behind her pursed lips, hiding the discomfort from Harriet.

Harriet was worried about the woman in front of her, but forced a small smile. "If you ever need to talk, Colonel, please…"

"I…" she was about to say that she would take a rain-check, when she reconsidered, "I assure you, Harriet, I'm alright. You don't need to fuss over me."

"Alright, Ma'am." And with another comforting expression, Harriet turned on her heel and walked over to Bud's office. Mac could hear her shoes click uniformly over the linoleum over all other sounds, and followed the noise until she heard a loud 'clunk' when she brought her feet down together in front of her husband.

Mac squeezed her eyes shut as she gently let herself lean forward towards the desk again. She could almost hear her backbone creak in pain as it changed its position once more. She gently released her death grip on the arms of the chair and rubbed her palms vigorously over the same area, erasing the tiny semi-circle shapes left by her nails from the fabric.

"Mac, do you have the police reports on the Fox court martial?" a voice called from her doorjamb.

Her eyes snapped open and she got up slowly from her chair, trying as much as possible to hide the difficulty she had the simple act from Harm. He caught it though, from the way her knuckles turned white as she pushed herself up using the desk in front of her, and the way she stood shakily at her full height, as if experiencing it for the first time.

She shuffled to his right and leafed through the stack of folders in front of her. "Aha, here."

He took a mere two steps forward with his lanky legs and found himself in front of her in surprisingly little time. She held out her hand in which the folder was held, and he accepted it from her with a quiet thank you.

"You alright?"

"Fine."

"No you aren't," he stated, not budging from his spot.

She gave a laugh. It was dripping with something he couldn't pinpoint, perhaps fabrication. It felt like she had pieced together hastily, in a foolish attempt to pretend she was fine, but it was done far too quickly to deceive him. One thing he did know for sure was that it wasn't her real laugh. "Get back to work, Harm. I don't think Admiral Chegwidden would like to see you doing _this_ instead of your real job. You're getting paid with government dollars, you know."

Harm ignored her banter that she obviously tried to use to get the focus away from her. He had sauntered to the side quietly and pulled the door closed gently. "You didn't tell me how it went, yesterday."

"What?"

"At the hospital. The appointment I booked for you," he pressed gently.

She opened her mouth but shut it abruptly. She rounded her desk to behind the chair and folded her arms over the top, resting her chin above it all. She remained silent, but he was undeterred.

"Don't tell me that you didn't go."

"I did," she insisted quickly. "I just didn't want to ruin the Admiral's celebration with all my complaining."

"You _never_ complain."

"You wouldn't be so sure this time."

"What was it?"

She tapped her foot nervously and licked her lips. They were dry and burning, but much easier to disregard than her back. "They said it'll probably go away, with an operation or two, but they can't be sure until a few mores tests are run."

He faltered inside as the worry took over. It took him a moment to continue with their conversation, because her sudden confession choked him off and surprised him. It took all his will to suck in a breath, and some more still to piece together the next question. "What'll go away, Mac?"

She let go of a breath she wasn't aware that she had been holding. "They said that it was…a small tumor. But, I'll be okay," she hastily finished, not wanting him to start fretting over her in his heroic 'Harmon Rabb' way.

He stood up and crossed his arms in front of him. His anger started to take over the anxiety and it ashamed him, but he couldn't help himself. "Why didn't you tell me? After the party then? Jesus, you know Chegwidden wouldn't give a rat's ass about his retirement if he knew what was going on."

A slight knock at her door made her jump. "Enter."

Petty Officer Coates entered the door wearing her usual smile. Mac couldn't help but be a little amused that the girl in front of her was so oblivious to everything that was happening. It almost made her forget it all.

"Commander Turner wants to see you, Sir, Ma'am."

Harm nodded without looking at the Petty Officer, not letting his gaze on Mac waver. Coates left without a word, sensing the tension in the room, but remembering to close the door behind her politely.

"I didn't want you to worry," Mac replied to Harm's previous question, knowing he wouldn't let it go. "Come on, Sturgis wants to-"

"So, you were just going back home to pretend it was alright? Have you talked to anyone…I mean, it didn't have to be me."

"I picked you to talk about Webb," Mac shot back before taking a step towards the door.

Harm frowned, letting a moment of hurt flash across his face. He felt selfish, but said it anyway. "I'm sorry you had to _settle_."

She arched an eyebrow. "Come on."

"Please, Mac. I want to help you. Just let me..." He made her pause. His arm was out in front of him, one last desperate grab for her, but it fell to his side. His voice, unlike Harriet's which was filled with sympathy, was lined with pure desperation. She couldn't make herself do it – she didn't want to be a martyr and lean on someone like that, especially Harm. She didn't deserve his support, and he didn't deserve to be used. Besides, she could take care of herself.

"I told you I'm going to be fine. Please, Harm. I can't let this get in the way of…everything else."

"You act as if it's a sprained ankle or something."

"Well, hopefully, it'll go away without complaint, just _like_ a sprained ankle." She decided not to let him stop her that time, but then a small part of her was disappointed when she heard no disruption behind her. After shaking the thoughts out of her head, Mac continued towards Chegwidden's old office.

* * *

She brushed her fingers passed the telephone's buttons. Her hands shook as she poised her pointer-finger over the last digit of Clay's number, and she pressed down, with much more force than she knew was necessary. 

After five rings, his voice came on the line. "Hi, leave a message, and I'll call you-."

Mac pressed her thumb against the phone receiver button, terminating the line. That was the first time she had heard him since that day, and hearing him speak, the timbres and the quiet lulls that came along with it; it almost made her forget that he was dead. The CIA had done a slow job of cleaning things up at his apartment, she realized. A knot welled in her throat, becoming bigger and bigger – almost threatening to burst on her. Her eyes burned and as she felt the tears starting to seep out from beneath her eyelids. She wiped them away before they had the opportunity to do so, and clenched her jaw firmly, taking in a deep breath to will away the choking sensation.

Then all of a sudden, he was in the room. She hadn't heard him enter, but knew he had come after she had hung up.

"You…were calling him?" he asked softly.

She didn't reply, but instead made the arduous journey of getting up from her seat. He saw her knuckles get white again, but made no move to help, knowing she would only chide him later for patronizing her. Unexpectedly, she nodded before she was fully up and sniffed slightly.

She rubbed away at her eyes quickly, not bothering to hide it this time. "It's late. I'd better get home."

"I'll give you a ride."

"Stop it," she sighed, frustrated by his determination. He certainly wasn't making it any easier for her.

"You stop."

Mac clicked her briefcase open but abruptly stopped, not believing how ridiculously childish they sounded. "Stop what? I'm not doing anything."

When he didn't answer, she crisply shut the briefcase and started to leave, but could hear the familiar padding of Harm's shoes behind her as he followed in suit. Finally, at her 'vette, she had enough.

"What're you going to do, follow me home?" she snapped. Her words seethed with contempt, not against him, but herself. She wanted it…she wanted him to come with her, she wanted to tell him everything, and she wanted to be near someone. Her thoughts were betraying her, and she hated herself for that.

He noticed it from the way her eyes shifted to the floor in shame that she was doubting herself. She threw the car door open and lobbed her things inside, extending her leg to sit down. As she got in, she noticed Harm had gotten into the Lexus, and started to back out, away from her.

She made no move to do the same. Instead, she watched with much intent as he fixed his gaze on the rearview mirror and swiveled the car towards the exit. Within a moment, he was out of sight.

* * *

Mac's Apartment – The Same Night…

There was a gentle knock on her door, and she knew it was him before the thought to _open_ the door even ran through her mind. She shook off the blanket from around her shoulders and got to the door quietly. She hesitantly opened to door to reveal Harm, still in his uniform, fixing an intense gaze on her.

"Can I come in?"

Mac frowned, but gave him way, embarrassed slightly that her heart felt lighter. "What're you doing here? You need your sleep."

"I didn't get home…I just drove around for a bit and decided to come here," he admitted. "Are you busy?"

After he closed the door behind him, she started back to her seat in front of the television. "Yes, as you can see, I'm having company. Young Luke Skywalker is trying to get in touch with The Force."

"Help me Obi-Wan Kenobi, you're my only hope," Princess Leia softly begged from R2-D2's holograph image. With a sharp flicker, she was gone, leaving a dumbfounded Skywalker staring at the spot where she stood.

"She always needs to be saved," Mac grumbled, wrapping her blanket around her tightly, protecting herself from the chill in the room. She ran her fingers through her hair and sighed.

Harm, who had sat down quietly on the couch beside her, balanced his cover in his hands. "Everyone needs to be, sometimes."

She didn't answer. It was all too easy for him to do this: have a 'heart to heart' conversation. She had asked for it when she made that comment.

"I can think of a few people who don't," Mac said, playing along.

"Name one."

"You," she said without thinking. _Damnit_, she chastised herself.

He laughed. "Yeah right. I've had my ass picked up for me and handed back so many times that I've lost count. Like in Russia. I'd probably have died there if you hadn't come and rescued me, as much as I hated to admit it back then."

"This part's boring," Mac said, trying to change the subject. She grabbed the remote and fast-forwarded. "Ah, the Death Star."

"Mac, please…" he said. He grabbed her hand, startling her with his bold move. He too was surprised, she decided, because he lessened the extremity of his grip after seeing her face. "Sorry. I just…I want to know what's going on with you."

"You know already."

"I'm Luke Skywalker, I'm here to save you," the TV blared and Leia sat up straight in her jail cell. The lights from the movie danced on the walls, creating an eerie blue glow in Mac's dimly lit apartment.

"See? There it is again," Mac chuckled sardonically. "Han Solo and Luke should just put a leash on her so she doesn't get away."

"Hey, Han Solo needed to be saved too, you know," Harm reminded her.

Mac arched an eyebrow. "_One_ time. That's hardly as much as _she_ needed it."

"What do you have against Leia, anyway?"

She threw her hands up in frustration. "What the hell are we talking about?"

"We're obviously taking a…circumvented route as to what I'm _trying_ to talk about, like we always do."

"That makes sense."

"You need to talk to _someone_," Harm whispered. "You know, once upon a time, we could talk to each other about problems."

Mac remained silent. She brought up her remote and put off the TV, leaning back in the seat at the same time, once again feeling the familiar throbbing in her back.

This time, he made no hesitation. He took her hand in his and squeezed. "You're in pain." He helped ease her back to a more comfortable position and she could feel the burning sensation come up her throat.

The sheer affinity of it all shot through her and hurt more than her back. She let out a little gasp and she tried to bite back everything, keep it hidden, but it didn't work. It all rushed, at the same time. Trying to keep everything in just made the sobs come out a bit louder as she sucked in some air and held it, to prevent the sounds from leaking out.

"Oh God," she breathed as Harm hesitantly wrapped an arm over her shoulders. "It's not supposed to be like this."

"How's it supposed to be?" he asked gently. "You're not invincible, Mac. Let your friends help you, please. If not me, then even Harriet and Bud."

She didn't move to correct his assumption that she didn't need his help. A guttural sound escaped her lips. "I haven't had good experience when relying on people. Someone always ends up disappointed."

"You?"

"Generally the other person."

"Oh," he said simply.

"I'm so sorry." She sniffed. "It's just…I wanted to help myself. I can't drag you all into my small problems."

"I'd hardly call them small." She winced. "I meant…you shouldn't act like you can take care of it all. Like I said, everyone needs help sometimes, even the Luke Skywalkers and Han Solos of this world."

"I'd appreciate it if you stopped doing that." The corners of her lips perked up in a half-smile, but failed to make him forget all the things she was trying to overshadow.

"Sorry, it was just a spur of the moment type thing," he murmured. He grinned when he noticed her blinking back the tears and laughing.

Without warning, she leaned against him and he felt her round her left arm around his middle. To consummate their embrace, he brought his other hand to her neck and gently squeezed, unsure of how to react. It all felt so foreign to him, but he wanted to be there for her, so badly.

She took in a breath and held it precariously, considering how to verbalize her feelings. "Sometimes it just seems…God points at you and goes 'looks like she's too happy, better even things out'. Then the mighty hand comes down and everything crashes and burns. I figured that it was inevitable. Something like this always happens when it's _all_ right. I must sound so cynical."

"Hey, I'm having doubts myself." He looked at the grieved woman before him, and came to a realization that made him a bit nauseous. "You really were happy…with Clay."

He had released the hold around her shoulders slightly, and it disappointed her. "I liked where we were, but I meant everything in my life was at a balance. For once."

For a moment, he couldn't help but be furious. He wanted so much just to yell at her, tell her that she was happier without him near, that she pushed all those people away who cared about her the most, and that it was no wonder why she was like she was today. Then he simply exhaled his breath, letting all his anger go along with it.

She felt him tense and then decided he needed an explanation too. She released the hold she had around him slightly, starting to pull away. "I don't deserve to have you here now. If you want you can just leave; I'll understand."

He was ashamed more than anything when he considered it. Thankfully, he knew it was wrong and took her free hand in his and squeezed her fingers lightly. "I'll stay, if you let me."

"I'll let you."

Harm simply nodded and grasped her wrist, slowly soaking in how much physical contact they were in, and that neither one of them was pulling away. It was bliss, he decided.

"Will you let me be there for you?" he asked, unsure of himself. He wanted to make sure that what they had wouldn't be just one time. He wanted forever.

Mac leaned back and met his gaze. She intertwined their fingers and gave a sad smile. "Are you sure you want to be there for a wreck like me?"

"Yes, if you don't mind being looked after by another wreck," he said firmly, inching a bit closer towards her.

"Throughout all this mess?" 

He smiled. "And many more messes if you want."

"Only if you let me be there for you, too. No more of those aviator heroics."

He cautiously leaned towards her, resting his head up against hers precariously. "That's a sacrifice I'm willing to make."

They sat there for some time, together. He listened to the passing cars on the road outside, while she listened to the quiet inhaling and exhaling of his breath.

He broke the silence. "Why don't we talk then?"

"About what?"

"Everything, Sarah."

* * *

THE END -- 

Sorry, I had Star Wars on the brain. BTW, I like Leia...I just assumed Mac wouldn't ;)


End file.
